


Practice Makes Perfect

by Giraffe Dinosaur (youngerdrgrey)



Category: Pretty Little Liars
Genre: F/F
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-08-06
Updated: 2010-08-10
Packaged: 2017-12-14 20:25:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,964
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/841025
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/youngerdrgrey/pseuds/Giraffe%20Dinosaur
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>"And trust me, if I'm kissing you, it's because it's practice for the real thing." How much practice does one person really need? Angsty Alison/Emily. -Pre-Show. Threeshot.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> After watching this week's episode ("The Perfect Storm"), I couldn't stop thinking about the Alison and Emily scenes they had. I just read the second book – Flawless – and it covers the letter and the kiss. It's different, and I honestly don't know which way I like more. However, it wasn't really the kiss that intrigued me and had me opening my Word Document. It was the second scene where Alison tears Emily down, then calls her back. Three hours later (wrote these at midnight), I was still thinking about it. So, this story was born.
> 
> Besides, there really isn't enough of Emily/Alison or Emily/Maya on here.
> 
> [Currently revising.]

I loved Alison.

I loved her as much as one can at fifteen. I trailed behind her, listened to everything she said, and practically became a living puppet because of her. I couldn't even think when she was around me. I'm normally this articulate, bouncy person who can at least contribute to conversation. But, when Ali was there, my brain switched to kiss mode. Every one of those moments played in my head to remind me of what I was doing. Then, she would poke fun at me, and I'd think about them even more. Around others, she played and giggled, as if everything were a big joke. Around me, she raged.

Alison lashed out a lot with me. She would always say things, battle against everything we both saw happening. She would stare into my eyes and spit out the nastiest things, the most infuriating phrases. Then, just as I got the strength to walk away, she would cross the distance and push me to the wall. Her hands roamed down my arms, causing the fabric to scrape against the little hairs. My feet shuffled in my nervousness –  _was I doing it right? Are they out too far? Is this uncomfortable for her?_  I was horrible at relationships. And, that's what it was. Not one of those Rose and Jack relationships, but our own special kind, the Ali and Emily kind.

In case anyone's wondering, an Ali/Emily relationship is ridiculously unhealthy. Ali pushed me to the closest, immobile surfaces, nails scraping lightly at me, lips pressing down onto mine. I'd put everything I could into the fifteen maybe seventeen seconds that she gave me of unadulterated Ali. I'd think,  _this time will be different. This time she'll want me_. Every time, she pulled back and turned around, returning to whatever she was doing before. Then I'd just watch as the one person I loved told me again and again that she could never and would never love me back.

One day, I decided not to have it anymore. I decided that it was time we did something about it. Before the letter, we would talk.

I stalked up to her, in front of people. I put my hand on her shoulder, and she froze. She didn't turn to me, just kept listening to whatever Spencer had to say. I waited until there was a pause before I moved to her again.

"Can I talk to you?" I asked. My other hand fidgeted with the hair trying to devour my bright, red cheeks. It was pretty successful.

"I'm busy" was her reply.

"I really need to talk to you. About the other day, after practice," I said. What I wanted to say was 'after I snuck you into the school pool and you basically called me a pervert who watched you change and kissed your shoulder when you do twelve times worse things whenever everybody else is looking away.' What I meant was after practice, when I didn't say anything and I should have.

Ali finally brought herself around to me. Her blues eyes burned into mine. She usually avoided eye contact if she wasn't trying to manipulate someone. What was the point in showing the one thing that revealed she had a heart? Her lips drew together and I just knew her teeth were clenched. She never betrayed this much emotion in public.

"Now is not the time, Emily," she stressed. But I wouldn't have it.

"It's either you come with me, or we have this talk right here in front of everyone."

Empty threat. I knew it. I knew that I would never really have this talk in front of everyone. As much as I needed to say it, I wouldn't risk having everyone find out about my problems this way. Only Ali. Always, only Ali.

The hair infiltrated my vision again, blocking me for just a few seconds. I moved it back. By the time my gaze met hers, she'd already made her decision.

"Five minutes, locker room, and this better be important," she said.

I grinned. It was.

I was going to tell her. After months ( _years?_ ) of feeling like this, I – Emily Fields – would bare my soul for her to see. I was always an open book to her, but nothing would top this. She was going to hear me. No turning, no backing down. Alison shuts up and Emily takes control. If anyone's against the wall, squirming and being left with the most uncomfortable feeling in the world when she's left standing abandoned and open, it would be Alison. For once, it would be Alison.

I just had to wait five minutes.


	2. Chapter 2

I'd never seen Alison like this.

Out of the group, I was the one who had seen the most of her and knew her the best. I had seen her with tears running down her face. I had seen her raging about, knocking over chairs and throwing things. I had seen her trashed and so out of it that she even apologized for some of the things she said to people. Yet, I'd never seen her this out of her element.

She wrung her hands at her sides. I figured she imagined my neck was within them. Every time her teeth ground together, she probably thought of biting my head off. Ali could always imagine the most horrible things in that twisted, little head of hers. All of that imagination amounted to nothing in the long run. She still glared at me as if I was ruining her life. And she still spat her words at me, soaking with contempt.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"To talk. And, you're going to listen. For once, you're going to listen to everything I have to say, without comment," I told her.

"And if I don't?" she challenged.

Inhaling deeply, I said, "And if you don't, I'll tell everyone about what happened at the Rock, two weeks ago, with Jeralyn."

Cement must have coursed through her veins because she didn't move an inch. Not a single twitch to her when I told her what I'd do. I don't know why I expected some kind of change. Ali never went into something without knowing the stakes. She probably already knew I had this. She probably already had a plan to get out of it.

"Fine."

It threw me off at first.

Fine?

Ali never backed down. Ali stood up to anything and anyone – including Toby, the creepiest guy to ever step foot into Rosewood Day. She handled police officers and principals and could con the socks of a Congressman. Yet, she just bowed out. Either she really hated the idea of the Rock getting out, or she was just curious about what I had to say. Either way, I got my wish.

I began with a question, "Do you remember, after practice, when we were in here?" I doubted she would forget, but it helped to put me back in that moment. I needed to be back in that moment, to channel all that frustration and rage and disbelief. So, I brought up the worst part of that entire time.

"You said that you liked boys," I said, "A fact you constantly remind me of. You said that if you were kissing me, it's only because you're practicing for the real thing. Well, how much practice do you need? How many times do you need to press your body into mine before you're ready for the real thing? How many times will your hand grasp at every clothing clad bit of me? How many times are you going to use me for yourself? And just how many times am I supposed to let you?"

A thought occurred to me then. Maybe everything was just a game. The entire thing could be fabricated by Ali to get me to stand up to her.  _But why would she want that?_  Why would she want someone who wasn't afraid to tell her no in her most vulnerable state? She already had Spencer who argued up a storm. She'd never want someone who could see her on her knees, panting, eyes glazed over with lust, hands twitching to feel something other than her own skin, someone who would see that and just turn away. Not even Ali was that sick and twisted.

She was like all the rest of them – the people who toyed with others who weren't normal, others who were gay.

I changed the subject, slightly, "I looked into some things. Did you know that a quite a number of homophobic people are the way they are because they're afraid? They're scared because it's in them, or people around them. They say things, rude things, just to push the ideas away. As if yelling out the FA-word is going to make it less real for them. It doesn't.

"So, why don't you stop the bullshit and look me in the eyes? Why don't you let me, or at least yourself, know that this isn't just some bubbling over thing? This isn't just you apologizing in a way that you think works. This is you, as always, taking what you want. Alison DiLaurentis always gets what she wants. And what she wants is me. And I want her back. I want her back so much."

I didn't know what to do after that. In all honesty, I wasn't expecting to get this far. I had the letter written up and in my backpack, in case I chickened out. Even in my most confident moment, I hadn't really thought too far beyond the confession.

Every time I tried to, I wound up thinking of these awful situations. Times where she'd spit in my face, or whip out a video camera where she'd recorded the whole thing to embarrass me. Maybe she'd tell me she had some boyfriend who got to see and touch every part of her. She'd tell me that was one thing that would've never happened with me. I'd tell her it didn't mean anything – we could still try – only to have her laugh in my face.

After those, I would try to envision the best-case scenario. She would tell me that she  _does_  want me, or that she always has, and always will. She would then ask me on a date to some swim meet far away so that we had an excuse to be out of Rosewood. There, she'd hold my hand and we'd laugh about absolutely nothing. We wouldn't even see the teams swim, just go into some back corner of the school and be alone. Then, at the very end of the amazing date, she'd ask me to run away with her to some place where people wouldn't hate us for being who we are. We'd change our names and go by Ester and Annie, the fifteen-year-old couple that lives in San Francisco.

No matter how many times I ran the idea, I never imagined her exact reaction.

Things are never what we expect.

 


	3. Chapter 3

"Kiss me."

Like I said, never what we expect.

She repeated her command, "Kiss me." She said it like she was the one calling the shots. But she wasn't. It was my time. And I'd do whatever I pleased. If I wanted to stand and yell at her, I would. If I wanted to just leave, I would. If I wanted to kiss her, I would. I didn't do things because Ali told me to. I did things because I wanted to. I did things because it's what Emily Fields felt she should do. Even when speaking in the third person, I embodied strength and confidence.

So why did I freeze up the second she spoke those words?

"W-what?"

She locked onto me, scintillating blue piercing through the icy layers of what used to be my brain. She challenged me, "You say you want me, Emily. Prove it. You say I want you. Let me show just how much I want you." Her tone charred flesh. It dripped acid and contempt. She might as well have hurled insults with the way she almost cackled into it. What was so ridiculous about the idea of her wanting me? What made it so hard for her to comprehend? And even more, if she didn't want me, why did she do these things? Why?

I accepted her challenge. Why wouldn't I? I always did in the past. I did anything and everything Ali brought forth. I convinced myself that her ideas were always for the best. I always did that, and look where it brought me.

My toes scratched against the inside of my too tight sneakers. They smelled bad. No one could tell when my feet were in them, but they had that smell of feet that churned my stomach. Or maybe that came from the thought of what I was about to do.

Inhale for strength. Exhale for composure. Inhale for confidence. Exhale for wisdom. Inhale for power. Exhale for love. Inhale. Exhale. Dive.

I invaded her space, placing myself directly where she was. My stinky feet brushed against hers in their slightly covered flats. Her eyes didn't waver down to her scraped toes, nor did her lips breathe out that quick burst of pain. All of her honed in on me as I went in.

It was nothing like any kiss I'd ever had before.

Teeth and tongue and claws and urgency. She didn't want this. She didn't want me. She fought with me, raging in the very act that I held sacred. She wrenched away; my lips slid across her cheek.

"That all you got? That all the want inside of you? Where's the lust? Where's the passion? Emily's got no drive. That's what everyone says. Emily plays it safe. Emily doesn't know when to make a move. All Emily's good for is moving her arms in the water. Emily-"

Deep surges rushed through her vocal chords. She groaned into it, sentence dying before any more hurtful words could escape. I nipped again at her skin, paying no attention to anything she would do in response. I'd been tapped in; it was my turn to fight. My turn to claw. My turn to get what I wanted.

"Emily waits for the right moment to strike," I said. Each word was accented with the pinch of my molars. I went on, "Emily knows better than to go in before she has to. She saves her strength for when she needs it. When she wants it."

Her wandering hands found their target. They hooked themselves at the collar of my polo before dragging down. Lower and lower until they rested at the curve of my backside.

"Spanking?" I checked, "Twisted even for you."

Distaste wormed its way out of her mouth, spitting, "You'd like that, would you?"

I pulled back slightly. Was it too much to ask that I didn't disgust her? After everything I'd done for Ali, she should've praised me. I wasn't like the other girls. I didn't turn around and say bad things about her to the others in the circle. I never said anything bad to anyone. In fact, I told everyone else to stop saying them.

"I've always defended you," I told her, "Whenever someone said anything, anything about you, I defended you."

It was all a waste.

"Why'd you do that, Em?" she roared.

"I honestly don't know," I said, "What they say about you, everything is true. 'Alison doesn't care about anyone but herself.' 'Alison spends all of her time ruining other people's lives.' 'Alison's most likely to die alone with no one but a string of suspects behind her.' 'Alison's nothing but a cold-hearted nymph, a flirtatious  _bitch_  out to destroy us all.'"

"Feel free to tell me what you really feel," she snapped. She couldn't even stop the sarcasm for five minutes.

"I have! I've told you everything! There's not one part of me that you don't know, and you still don't understand where I'm coming from. You still won't love me the way I love you!"

The only thing more stunning than Alison herself was when Alison could no longer find the words. Most of Rosewood would pay big money to see Ali unable to speak. They'd buy front row tickets to the day she found herself distraught and silent. Maybe I should have confronted her in front of everyone in the hall. At least that way, someone would get some satisfaction out of it.

"I'm done." The words sounded foreign even to me, even though I said them. "I'm done with you and I'm done with this. Find yourself someone else to screw with."

I should've felt free. When those doors closed and cut me off from her for the last time, I should've felt relieved.

I don't even know what the hell I was feeling. All I know is that that was the last time I spoke to Ali for real. It was the last time we were alone together. It was the last conversation I would ever have with her. The next day, I mailed the letter to her. Three days later, we had the sleepover in the barn. We pretended that day never existed. And once she was gone, it was almost like it never really did. Until…

_Silly little Emily, don't you know the only real ending is death? And even that's a little iffy. Seems she took your last piece of advice a little too literally. It's a good thing they don't try to bury in white – the color of innocence would only be tainted by the two blue lines. Don't believe me? Ask the coroner. Or better yet, why don't you ask your Homecoming date?_

_\- A_


End file.
